


Beware A Quiet Dog's Savage Bite

by lycanus1



Category: King Arthur (2004)
Genre: Angst, First Crush, Gen, M/M, Peacemaking, Swearing, Teen Crush, Threats of Violence, family drama/issues, over-protective dad, over-protective lover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-16
Updated: 2016-02-16
Packaged: 2018-05-20 23:04:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6028741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lycanus1/pseuds/lycanus1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Where Tristan offers solace; Dagonet is conflicted and a drunken Bors goes off the deep end which results in a confrontation ...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beware A Quiet Dog's Savage Bite

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: Everything and anyone recognizable still belongs to Jerry Bruckheimer and Touchstone Pictures - more's the pity ... 
> 
> WARNING: Slightly AU due to the timeline being abused and tinkered with. All our beloved knights are still alive and kicking - though considering Lancelot's gods-awful behaviour, he could well be on borrowed time ...

Tristan was tired. Dog-tired, in fact. He'd just returned from a very tiresome week’s patrol and after visiting the bath-house and calling at the tavern for a quick bite to eat, all he craved was sleep. Preferably in Dagonet's arms. Ever since they'd become lovers, he'd swiftly discovered that he slept much better with his Healer than when they were apart. There was something innately soothing about the tall, strapping Roxolani's presence which never failed to calm the beast within. And just thinking of Dag made the death-dealer smile wistfully. 

It had been late when he rode into the garrison and he had expected to see Dag at the tavern keeping company with Bors. Yet, to his disappointment, Bors had been alone and of Dagonet there'd been no sign, much to the bafflement of both the Scout and the older Roxolani. Tristan had stayed long enough to devour his food and talk with both Bors and Vanora for a while, then retired to his quarters. Feeling more or less dead on his feet. 

The Scout silently stalked into the knights' barracks and headed wearily down the long corridor to the last room on the right and paused to survey the hallway. He noted that the door to Lamorak’s room opposite his own was firmly closed yet was still able to discern the strapping Iazgyes warrior's deep rumble of laughter from within. Tristan grinned, realizing the big man had company. Company whose unmistakable, husky laughter revealed to be his lover. The Siraci healer. Ywain. 

Entering his own quarters, Tris' golden eyes flickered around the chamber and sighed with relief when he noticed that a fire already burning brightly in the hearth and that some of the torches on the walls were also lit. Tristan quickly stripped off his arsenal of weapons and moss-green tunic, before sitting on the bed to pull off his riding boots then revelling in the feel of the thick fur rug beneath his bare feet. He remained in quiet contemplation until the door burst open and slammed violently shut. The normally unflappable and composed Aorsi started as Dagonet stormed angrily into the room. 

"Damn stubborn, irresponsible, impulsive, foolish wench !" The older knight fumed as he sank on the foot of the bed and tore off his leather boots, hurling them into the far corner of the room in a fit of pure rage and frustration. His actions were completely out of character and left the Scout completely befuddled. 

"Wolf ... ? Calm yourself. Take a deep breath and breathe slowly. ‘N’ tell me what the bloody hell's happened, for mercy's sake. This isn't like you- " 

The tall Roxolani sighed heavily and sat with his cropped head bowed, elbows resting on his knees. Broad, powerful shoulders were hunched; every fine line and sinew of his strapping frame full of tension, fury and ... dismay. 

"Bloody Esyllt, that's who !" Dagonet snarled, unconsciously rubbing the knuckles of his right hand. He gave a sudden, sharp hiss which instantly drew the Scout's attention. Tristan calmly reached across and grabbed the Healer's wrist, drawing it upwards to meet his calm, steady gaze. He shook his head sadly as he took in Dagonet's badly abraded and bloody knuckles. 

"Fuck, Dag ! What in the goddess' name have you bloody done, you daft fool ?" The Scout asked quietly, gently stroking his lover's bruised and battered hand with his index finger. 

"I did what Bors and Vanora should have done. Tried to talk some sense into Esyllt's thick skull. To get her to see Lancelot's playing with her. That he's using her and once he's tumbled her _will_ tire of her. _Will_ hurt her. Badly. The little fool's being so damned bloody hard-headed about him. Just refuses to listen to reason. Lancelot has her in his thrall- " 

It was Tristan's turn to sigh. If anything was guaranteed to rile him, it was seeing his lover so upset. And one look at his Wolf's pale countenance told him that Dag was far more than upset. Thanks to his niece’s obstinacy, he was distraught and clearly in need of reassurance and comfort. The Aorsi lowered his dark head and tenderly brushed his lips against Dagonet's knuckles before slowly, lacing his long, slim fingers with Dag's slightly thicker ones. 

"Dag ... Wolf ... Look at me ... _Look_ at me ... _Please_..." Tristan shifted on the mattress and moved closer. Closing the gap between them. He raised his free hand to rest against Dagonet's neck, talented fingers idly, yet soothingly, caressing the gentle giant's nape. The Scout slowly trailed his fingers across the strong column of his lover's throat and gently tilted up his chin. Dagonet stubbornly kept his eyes averted. Sighing once more, Tristan rested his forehead against Dagonet's for a moment to gather his thoughts, before voicing them. "Please, Dag, I hate seeing you like this, love ... and I can't help unless you tell me what's bothering you ..." By now, Tristan's hand had slowly moved and was gently cradling the older Sarmatian's scarred cheek. 

Dagonet inhaled raggedly, opened his eyes and reluctantly met the Aorsi's gaze. Anguished silver orbs met warm, concerned gold. 

"Y’know you can tell me anything, Dag. Yes ? That I'll be here for you. No matter what. You're my soul mate … I love you and would do anything to ensure your happiness ? You realize that, aye ?" 

Dagonet nodded slowly. "Aye ... I do. I trust you with my life ... my heart ... and my soul ..." He paused, his brow furrowed and his gaze became pensive. Wistful almost. "I may have pushed her too far over this business with that arrogant, conniving sod. Tempers were lost and things said on both sides that can’t be taken back ... She told me she hates me, Tris ... truly hates me. My own niece accused me of not caring for or wanting her to be happy ... that I'm a selfish, hurtful bastard ... I, I lost it with her, Tris ... Couldn't help it ... Couldn't stop myself ..." 

Tristan froze, his gaze flickering briefly to his lover's bruised hand then back to his face. He groaned inwardly. "For fuck's sake Dag, you daft git, tell me you didn't do anything stupid ... That you didn't hurt her. Bors’ll fucking hunt you down and kick the living shit out of you if you’ve laid a hand on his eldest- " 

"Huh !" Dagonet gave a mirthless snort. " _'His eldest'_... D'ya honestly think I'm _that_ stupid ? I never laid a finger on Esyllt, Tris, I swear to gods I didn't ... I was so angry that I couldn't bring myself to even bloody look at her, let alone touch her ... This ?" Dagonet glanced at his wounded hand then met the Aorsi's gaze. "This happened after I hit the closest thing to hand ... A bloody wall. Not Esyllt. Besides, d'ya really think she'd have let me get away with hitting her ? Unscathed ? The little bint's perfectly capable of kicking my head in, if she puts her mind to it ... Her ma's made damn sure that she's able to take care of herself. Daft ‘n’ furious I may be, but I'm _not_ bloody suicidal ... " 

The Scout exhaled a breath he'd been unaware that he'd held. He knew deep down that his man, although a trained and deadly killer drew the line when it came to abusing women. He'd rarely raised his voice to anyone in anger ... Dag would never raise a hand to a woman and he despised any man who did. 

"I know, Wolf ... I just needed to hear you say it. The last thing I want is for Bors, or gods help us, Vanora, to come after you intent on spilling your blood. I want and need you in one piece, you stupid bugger," Tristan paused and carded his fingers wearily through his tousled, dark mane. "Esyllt will come around, Dag you'll see ... You're her uncle, her protector. She adores you, love and won't be able to stay angry with you for long- " 

The Roxolani slowly shook his head, his expression glum. Forlorn. "That'll never happen, Tris. I've burnt my bridges this time. Told her if she was too blind ... too willful and stupid to listen then ... then I was washing my hands of her. I didn't want to know. That I couldn't just stand back and watch that bloody rat hurt her. Which he inevitably will ... He'll tire of her and cast her aside ... and there's nothing I can do to stop it. I know I hurt her badly when I tried to reason with her over this, but it'll be nothing in comparison to the damage, the pain she'll suffer once that bastard's through with her ... but the daft lass is too naive and oblivious to see what the rest of us are so clearly aware of. I ended up telling her not to come running to me when all of this shit turns around and savagely bites her on the arse- " 

"She's young, Dag ... Inexperience is often coupled with naivety ... Because of her innocence, Esyllt's only able to see the light in Lancelot. Not his darkness. But she's a bright lass. She's heard the rumours about him and will see sense before long ... Esyllt's trying to find her path in life. And considering who her parents are and how stubborn she can be, the more we try to influence her, well … the less likely she'll be to listen to us. Maybe it's time for us to hang back ... Let her decide what she wants- " 

" _Tris !_ " 

"Listen, Dag, like you, Lancelot's the last man in this gods-damned cesspit of a country, that I want sniffing around your niece ... He's a selfish, arrogant, ruthless bastard. Fuck ! I should know what I'm talking about, because I'm one too. Yet _you_ chose me. Took me on," Tristan grinned and teased gently, "and somehow managed to clip my wings and tame me ... Maybe Lanc- " 

"You're nothing like that fucking bastard, Tris. _Nothing !_ " Dagonet growled in protest. "You've a good heart. You're capable of sensitivity ... Kindness. Compassion ... and love, even if you don't like to show it. _He_ is not !" 

Tristan lightly traced his forefinger down the large scar which marred his lover's face, his eyes firmly fixed upon Dagonet. "Listen, I'm not taking sides here, Dag ... Just trying to make you see things a little more clearly." 

Dagonet groaned. "I see things fine enough, Scout- " 

"Bollocks !" The younger man retorted sharply. "That's a load of bullshit, Dag and y’know it. I used to be exactly like Lancelot. What you hate in him. The only reason why I've changed is down to you, you stubborn bastard. You've changed me into a better person. I've become a better man thanks to you. Because _you_ took a chance on me ... because ... Oh, I dunno ... Maybe ‘cause you saw something in me that was redeemable. That was worthy of love. I'm fucked if I know what it was ... All I know is that I'm eternally grateful that you saw it and took a leap of faith in taking me on. What I'm trying to say is that Esyllt's besotted with him ... and loathe as I am to admit it, so far, the devious bugger's done nothing wrong- " 

"But, Tris- " 

Tristan laid a finger against Dag's lips, effectively silencing him. "But nothing, Wolf. For now and whilst Lancelot continues to behave, I'm prepared to leave things be ... Ah-ah-ah ..." he slowly shook his head and raised an admonishing eyebrow as the older warrior was about to protest once more. "But I swear to you, on my life, the moment Lancelot crosses that line ... hurts Esyllt in any way, I promise you, Dag, I _will_ make him hurt in ways he could never possibly dream of or imagine ... I _will_ make him bleed and rue the day he ever trifled with our little one's affections. That I promise you." 

Dagonet met Tristan's unflinching gaze and could tell that the younger knight was genuinely sincere. He gave a faint smile. 

"Now, come to bed, y’daft bugger," Tristan announced bluntly, then yawned softly. "'Tis late and I'm weary. I need my sleep and I want my man - my Wolf - at my side. You'll see things more clearly after you've rested ..." He reached up and brushed his lips tenderly against the Healer's furrowed brow, then moved away to strip away his suede breeches before sliding naked beneath the large bed's thick furs. 

Shortly, he felt the mattress dip beneath him as Dagonet sank onto the bed. Tristan's body instinctively gravitated towards his Healer, seeking the warmth, comfort and love only Dagonet was capable of providing him. He found himself draped like a blanket across the larger man and gently nipped Dag's bare shoulder, his beard grazing the Roxolani's smooth skin. 

"Now sleep, Wolf. Things will appear better in the morning ..." And with that muffled remark, the Scout fell asleep in his Healer's arms. 

**_XXXXX_**  

**_The following evening:_**  

Bors sighed heavily as he warily watched Vanora. She was furious with him – again. Bors shook his head. Only this time, for once, he wasn't the direct cause of her wrath. No, that honour fell upon their eldest. Their spirited, independent, lovely daughter. Their pride and joy, Esyllt. And Esyllt was exactly that. The apple of their eyes. So, like her feisty mother in every way. Strikingly beautiful with long titian curls, smooth creamy skin and dark, flashing eyes. Fiercely intelligent and protective of those she loved and cared for. Esyllt was hard-working, full of compassion and possessed a huge, yet tender heart as well as a stubborn streak a mile long, something which she'd clearly inherited from her equally bloody-minded father, Bors mused with a rueful grin. 

She was a daughter any man would be proud to call his own ... yet for the first time in her young life, the willful seventeen year old's insane infatuation with the fort's biggest man-whore was giving her parents great cause for concern. And now that concern over how to handle such a sensitive matter was creating unnecessary friction and conflict between him and his beloved Vanora, as neither of them could agree on a suitable solution to the problem. 

Chewing on a piece of bread absentmindedly and watching Esyllt move through the tavern, he nodded slightly when Dag and Tris seated themselves opposite him. Bors grunted when Esyllt approached the table and wordlessly, slammed two tankards on the knotted oak table before depositing a fresh ewer of ale and taking the half-full one back to the bar. 

Dagonet let out a sigh and shook his head; Tristan poured ale into the two empty vessels and topped off Bors’ tankard. 

“Lass still ignoring you ...?” 

It was more of an observation than a question and Dag simply shrugged and sighed again. 

“Dunno, Bors … things were said in the heat of the moment that neither of us can take back. She’s just…” “My daughter's too bloody stubborn 'n’ blind for her own good when it comes to that good-for-nowt, arrogant arsehole...” Bors deliberately kept his voice as a low rumble not relishing the thought of Vanora or Esyllt hearing his current thoughts and opinions. “Have you any thoughts ‘bout all this crap, Scout?” Bors turned his attention to Tristan. “Heard a little bird's been singing that y'think we need to leave well alone …” 

Tristan shrugged wearily, his golden eyes carefully studying the two strapping Roxolani. Sighing, he reached for his tankard and downed a mouthful before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He chewed pensively at his lower lip. No matter what he said, he was going to end up pissing someone off one way or another and going by the relentless gaze the fort's prize pugilist was bestowing upon him, he wouldn't be able to wriggle out of replying truthfully. “Well, the git's not done anything wrong so far- ” 

Bors barked a bitter, distinctly unamused laugh and slowly shook his head. “So, that's the way the wind's blowing, is it ? The bugger's not done anything wrong. 'So far' being the key here ... 'Course he hasn't. The devious sod's biding his time's all ... Biding his time before he takes advantage 'n' I'm not bloody having it ! I'm not having scum like him lay his filthy paws on her. She's my fucking daughter. My beautiful, precious Esyllt ‘n’ she's far too good for the likes of him.” 

Bors gave a disgusted snort as he skewered the Aorsi with a furious glare before grabbing his tankard and taking a deep pull from it. "I'm not fucking having it, y'hear me ? If that fucking tomcat even thinks about tumbling my little girl, I'll have him. I'll bloody geld him ... then we’ll see how desperately the womenfolk here will be falling for his dubious "charms" ..." 

Again, Tristan shrugged and this time glanced at Dagonet, hoping for some help.   They had discussed the matter until the wee small hours and Tristan had genuinely believed Dag had finally found peace. But now, thanks to his volatile, agitated kinsman that fragile peace was nowt but a dim and distant memory ... 

As soon as he was aware that no one was within earshot, Bors leant across the table and beckoned the others closer. “Been thinking- " 

Tristan smirked into his tankard and retorted, "Careful there, Bors … that's a muscle you're not used to straining- " 

"Shut it, you ! 'M being serious. Reckon it's time I warned him off ... Let the sod know I mean business ... that if he takes liberties with my wee lass ... If he hurts her, makes her shed a single fucking tear, then ... then he'll fucking regret ever being born ... The Woads and the Saxons will be mere child’s play. By the time I've finished with him, he'll be praying for death- " 

Accurately sensing the direction Bors' thoughts were taking him, Tristan groaned inwardly and was about to intervene, when Dag managed to cut in before him. The taller Roxolani shifted in his chair and uneasily rubbed his nape. 

"Look, Bors, Tris may have a point, aye ? Maybe we should back off- " 

" _A point ?_ A fucking point, y’say ?" Bors roared, leaning forward menacingly. "Y'think 'we should back off' ?" 

"We-ell," Dagonet cautiously began to speak only to be interrupted by his irate cousin. 

" _Don't_ tell me your backbone's upped 'n' buggered off here, cousin. This is your niece I'm on about here. _My eldest_. Not some fucking doxy. Esyllt. _My_ Esyllt ... When it comes to my daughter, I'd do anything to keep her safe ‘n’ happy. Anything ... 'n' that definitely doesn't mean backing off. She's like her ma, far too trusting ‘n’ prone to seeing the good in people, even ones that are rotten to the bloody core ..." 

Tristan gave a disbelieving snort. Vanora too trusting ? Honestly ? The lovely, fiery barkeep was far from trusting. If anything, she was the most cynical, level-headed, yet suspicious woman he'd ever met, even if she did possess a heart of gold. 

Bors sighed and took another pull of ale from his tankard, then wiped the foam from his lips with the back of his hand. "Nah, the quicker we put a stop to this, the better. There's no way I'm letting that skirt-lifter anywhere near my daughter's, never mind tupping her. ‘N’ as her blood kin, Dag, _you_ owe it to her, _to your family,_ that it never happens, aye ?"

Hearing his lover's deep growl, the Scout eyed him warily. To his dismay, Dagonet's silver eyes burned with ice-cold anger and his strapping frame was rigid with tension. Inhaling deeply, he grabbed the younger Roxolani's wrist in an attempt to calm and distract him from his thoughts. All his hard work the previous night to soothe his troubled Healer and alleviate his fears had been in vain ... thanks to Dagonet's volatile, aggressive kinsman's reckless words. Words which had inflamed the gentle giant in the same manner a spark of flint fell upon dry tinder ... 

Wearily, Tristan dragged a grimy, callused hand down his face and groaned inwardly. Trust gods-damned Bors and his bloody runaway trap fuck things up beyond belief once more … 

**_XXXXX_**  

A pretty much worse for wear Bors stumbled towards the latrines' exit, his sole aim to continue his discussion with his younger kinsman, Dagonet and the Scout over the matter which was firmly gnawing away at him. How to protect his beloved Esyllt, as well as safe-guard her virtue by keeping her out of Lancelot's clutches. 

Bors never made it past the doorway. Leaning in a deceptively relaxed pose against the wooden frame was the Aorsi death-dealer. The younger, leaner and more athletically built man eyed him calmly through narrowed golden eyes. Tristan's steady, intelligent gaze quickly began to unnerve the older, stockier Roxolani and that was a rarity in itself, as scarcely anything flustered the garrison's prize-fighter. Bors never feared anything or anyone, though he would confess - under duress, of course - that he had the utmost respect for Vanora and the deadly right hook that she possessed. Bors was well into his cups, but there was something eerie about Tristan's scrutiny that sobered him. It did not bode well. 

Bors inhaled deeply, rolled then squared his massive shoulders and slowly approached the Scout with the sole intention of passing him and returning to the warm tavern, his pitcher of ale and his cousin. 

"Tristan." Bors acknowledged the silent man and glanced meaningfully behind Tris, hoping the Aorsi would take the hint and step aside so that he could pass. Unfortunately, the Scout remained motionless and the look which he gave Bors was cold and unfriendly. One which distinctly told the older knight that he would not tolerate any bullshit. 

"You ... Me ... We need to talk," the Scout stated quietly. Matter-of-factly. 

"Er ... what about ?" 

"You know damn well what about, you stupid bugger." Tristan glared at him with glacial anger. "This fucking shit involving your daughter and Rat Boy. It stops now, Bors. I mean it ..." 

"It bloody well stops when I say it does, you daft Aorsi bastard !" Bors snarled. "Once me 'n' Dag have had a little "chat" with Lancelot, or after we've kicked the living shit out of him. Whichever comes first. I ain’t fussed, so long as he leaves our Esyllt be." Bors attempted to side-step around the slighter man and suddenly found a furious, deadly knight right in his face. 

"Back the fuck off, Tristan, unless you want me to lay you ou- " He attempted to push the Scout away and failed. The next thing Bors was aware of was the sharp point of a blade pressed against his throat. 

"If you're stupid enough to start a war with Lancelot, Bors _and_ by default, Arthur, then be my fucking guest," Tristan hissed, leaning closer to the larger man. "You do it at your own risk. _And without Dagonet_. Do _I_ make myself clear ? I catch you dragging Dag into this fucking mess - into _any_ blood feud - with Arthur's lackey, then you ‘n’ me ? We'll be having words ..." 

"Aye ? Haven't you forgotten something, Scout ... ?" Bors foolhardily taunted the ruthless killer. "Dag's family. _My blood_. ‘N’ a Roxolani. ‘N’ for a Roxolani, family's everything. We protect ‘n’ care for _our_ own. Above all else ... ‘N’ Esyllt happens to be his favourite niece. Seems like you’ve forgotten that ..." Bors smirked, believing he'd finally got one over on the Scout. He flinched and gave a sudden, sharp yelp, as Tristan imperceptibly pressed the point of the dagger's blade deeper against his throat. The Scout smirked coldly as a tiny scarlet bead broke through the skin. 

"And you forget, Bors, that Dag's my kin as well. _My_ soul mate. _My_ world. And I also protect and defend my own. The ones I hold dear. And no one is dearer to me than Dagonet. Anything happens to _my_ Wolf - even the merest scratch or graze - and _I will_ hunt you down and make _your_ life a living hell. Is _that_ understood ?" Tristan slowly withdrew the blade, never taking his eyes away from the wily pugilist. After all, Bors may well be completely bladdered, but that didn’t mean he was any the less dangerous for it. It always paid to be wary around him. "And no, I haven't forgotten Esyllt's your child. She's important to Dag and anyone he holds in high esteem is also of value to me. Esyllt may be young, but she's a shrewd judge of character like her ma and I trust her. If she believes she won't come to any harm, then unless _she_ asks for my help I won’t interfere- " 

"Then you're a fool, Scout, if you believe that shit !" Bors spat, his gaze fixed uneasily upon the dagger Tristan still held. It always amazed him how effortlessly the Scout managed to lay his hands on anything sharp, pointy and deadly. The man had an innate gift, a talent, when it came to finding and using weapons creatively. 

"And you're an even bigger idiot if you try browbeat her to your way of thinking ! Your daughter's wise for her age, but she won't be cowed in any way. Telling her to do something she doesn't agree with, is a sure-fire way to get her to do the opposite of what you want. If you weren't so addled by ale, you'd see that, you bloody fool !" 

Bors remained silent. A mulish expression cloaked his normally good natured face. He absently scratched his nape as he tried to absorb Tristan's words. 

Tristan sighed heavily and gradually pulled back, then with deliberate care, slowly re-sheathed the lethal hunting knife. "Remember, Bors, I don't give a rat's arse if you want to fuck up Lancelot's plans. But you do it on your own. _Without my Wolf_..." The Scout paused, then capturing Bors' reluctant gaze, continued quietly. The deadly intent in his husky, faintly accented voice was impossible to ignore. "Mark me well, Bors, if Dag's dragged into this shit in any way - no matter how small or unintentional - you _will_ make an enemy of me. And that'll be something you'll live to regret ..." 

And with that final, ominous remark the Aorsi silently stalked into the shadows in search of his beloved Healer, leaving Bors to quietly ponder what he'd been told. 

**FINIS**

 

 


End file.
